To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

SEVENTEEN

Year of Our Lord 1533

Greenwich Palace

The Tower of London

Simon appeared early the next afternoon. I met him in the greeting room of my apartments. “You are right,” I said. “My sentiments remain as they are expressed in the letters.”

“I knew it!” he screamed. “You’ve been betraying me, and my uncle, all along. Your family’s contemptible morals are never better displayed than in these debauched letters.”

“Come now. Debauched? Hardly. I do not act upon those feelings. Nor does the man in question, if he even holds them at present.”

Simon’s face was still twisted. “So you say, though I do not believe you, nor am I certain that you had not acted on them afore and may well again in the future. I have no desire to share my wife, neither her affections nor her caresses, with another. I would likely take you to wife only to find that you are not a maid.”

I looked him in the eye and kept my voice low. “Why ever would you expect to find me a maid, Baron? I am a widow, you recall.”

He returned my gaze, malevolently, then blinked like a lizard. “I leave, immediately, to inform your brothers that my offer of betrothal has been withdrawn.”

Within an hour Edmund burst through my door and took me by the hair. “For what means, Sister, do you speak to Lord Blackston of lies? You have had no correspondence with Will Ogilvy. I’d know.”

Mayhap he had spies?

“I have not claimed that,” I choked out, my neck bent backward. “Simon stole old letters and made of it what he would.”

He let go of my hair and shoved me into a chair. “They should have been burned long ago. They should never have been written. I myself would not marry a woman so compromised. So you’ve ruined your life. Fool! Then where will you go?” he taunted. “Because of your imprudence you have set aside years of planning and negotiations. I’ve already paid a dowry for you with the highest titled position you could hope for. I will not allow Father to pay another, bankrupting us for your lack of judgment.”

I knew this was coming, because it always came down to money and position with Edmund, and yet still took chill. There was no honorable way for me to marry any man above a serf without a dowry, and no good family would take on that shame. “I can serve Her Grace forever. Or the king will provide a dowry for me. Or I’ll go to an abbey.”

Edmund laughed. “There will be no abbeys left when the king is done dismantling the Church’s properties. And he will not be willing to pay a dowry for a disobedient wench. Cromwell keeps a good hand on the king’s money, as I know. Even Lady Anne,” he said with contempt, “must pay expenses of her own pocket or beg the king to cover her debts.”

There had been rumors that the king was considering reclaiming the monasteries from the Church in Rome for the Church in England. Anne’s plan was to use them to provide income for the poor, traditionally the responsibility of the Church, which would now become the king’s purview and which she had hoped to administer for the good of the needy. Could Henry really be planning to empty them into his own coffers?

If ’twere so…. there might be no abbeys left where unmarried highborn women may live out their lives in a gentle manner. Deep in thought, I was distracted and didn’t see him swing.

He hit me with a closed fist. From experience, I knew it would bruise and I’d need to remain in my rooms for days. “Do not come looking to me for assistance. You are on your own. And if I should hear any rumors that call my own reputation in question over this matter or any other I will put word about of your indecency, embellished, if necessary, which will make you unfit for royal service to a queen.”

I had Edithe send for Anne and she came as soon as she could. Edithe let her in and she found me in my bedchamber, where I lay, quietly, on my bed. Forgive me, Lord. I now imbibe too often of a convenient mistruth. And yet, I had feared for my life.

When Anne came into the room I rose to approach her and she settled me back onto my bed.

“No, no, do not disturb yourself,” she said. She ran a finger around the bruise on my face. “’Tis not a trivial wound.” She sent Edithe to her rooms to instruct her lady maid to ask the king’s physician for some ointment. “What happened, dearest?”

I poured out my story to her, holding nothing back. “Was I wrong? Wrong to admit to it? Wrong to do so knowing he would refuse me?”

She held me in her arms. “It matters not now, either way. ’Tis done and your conscience intact.” After a moment she continued. “The king and I steal away to be married—again. This time in front of a court priest, Rowland Lee. Henry Norris will witness as well as Sir Heneage. I’d wanted you to come, but I think it best be Lady Berkeley.”

I nodded. “I shan’t be able to be seen for a bit. Mayhap when the swelling goes down the gossip will too.” Of course all would know that I had been repudiated.

“No one will speak against you,” she promised, “for fear of me.” I took comfort in that, for I knew it to be true. “And when my son is born, I shall ask the king, as an especial favor to me, to give you a dowry so you may marry a kind man of the gentry or a second-born son.”

“Thank you, madam,” I said. Even she knew that she could only push Henry’s purse so far. Then it struck me. “A son is to be born? Your son?”

She nodded and laughed. “’Tis why we go to be married anew. I am with child and Henry wants to ensure there is no question can be raised of his legality.”

I held her in my arms. “A son! A son, Your Grace!” I joined her in laughter. “I am sorry I cannot serve you in this matter. Lady Berkeley will do well by you, I know.”

“Hush now,” she said maternally. I’d not seen her that way. Mayhap it was the child within her made her so. “I’ve already asked her,” she said. So she’d asked Lady Berkeley before she knew of my bruises. For a brief moment I wondered if asking Lady Berkeley to be a witness was to punish me for the linens at her first wedding. But I pushed the thought away.

She took her leave shortly thereafter, and she and Henry were married, quietly, at York Place. Whilst few had been privy to the knowledge of the first marriage, which had been performed mainly to set Anne at ease, the king made sure all knew of this one, upon which rode the legitimacy of his son.

I healed, of a time, and the pitiful looks stopped coming my way. Surely, I thought, Henry will be so overjoyed at the birth of his prince that he will indeed give Anne whatever she wants, including a dowry for me, mistress of the robes, faithful friend of a lifetime.

And if not, mayhap there would be abbeys remaining. Cromwell could not dismantle them all, for certes. There were hundreds. I am willing now to thus serve You, of my own free will. If indeed I have been called of purpose.

In the dark months of Lent I quietly attended reformer meetings held at court. Anne was not the only one nurturing new life. Within the quiet, nourishing womb of the meetings my tiny faith began to grow.

Just before Easter Thomas Cromwell unveiled the next stage of his legal masterpiece, the Statute in Restraint of Appeals, before Parliament.

“What does this mean?” I asked Anne. We were in her chambers fitting her for the magnificent pleated cloth-of-gold gown she would wear to Easter Mass, the first time she would be publicly prayed for as queen. I carefully buffed the jewels encrusting her gold crown.

“His Grace read me the documents,” she said, caring not at all that others were in the room to listen. “It means that the king is the final legal authority in all matters involving England, Wales, and indeed anywhere that is an English possession.”

The seamstress hadn’t pulled the waist tight enough and Anne adjusted it for her before continuing. “Cromwell has built an unshakable case proving that England is an independent empire. Which means that the English crown is actually an imperial crown. The title ‘pope’ was originally assigned to the ruling Roman caesars, pontifex maximus, and not to religious leaders; the case is proved both by Scripture and by tradition that Henry is ruler over all things in his own land.”

Jane Rochford snorted and Anne silenced her with a look. I had to admit, though I agreed with the logic, I thought Anne’s lecture a bit tiresome too. It troubled my pride that she felt the need to educate me on Latin, in which I had always excelled. Truth be told, she’d been lecturing all a bit more often since her wedding.

“So when Parliament passes this act,” I said, and it was a foregone conclusion that it would, “no one can appeal beyond him, not to another ruler, not to the pope, on any matter.”

“Exactly,” Anne said. “Henry will be subject to no power, temporal or spiritual, on earth.” She turned and looked at me, smoothing her hands over her slightly bulging belly. “Does this do?”

I smiled. “All will recognize your position now, Your Grace.”

And Henry’s.

After Mass at Easter my brother Thomas came to my rooms. “Thomas!” I looked behind him to see if Edmund had come with him. Thomas blushed, apparently aware of what I was doing.

“I come alone,” he reassured me. “Would you like to walk in the gardens?”

“Indeed.” I let my lady maid know where I was going—I had given Edithe leave to spend Easter at Hever—and then took my brother’s arm. The tulips bloomed and the bees buzzed merrily about the dew-tipped grass, throbbing with a green so pure that it hurt the eyes to look at for long. Thomas took my hand and led me to a great stone bench by the river. A swan and its mate glided slowly toward us.

“They mate for life, you know,” I said. “Once given they never retreat.”

“Admirable,” Thomas said. “Mayhap we can learn something from them.” He took my hand in his. “Meg, I’ve come to apologize. I had no idea how your betrothal with the baron was going to work out. Edmund had led me to believe that Simon was a good man and that was best for you.”

I nodded. “Why didn’t you speak with me?”

“’Tis shameful to admit it, but Edmund paid my debts for me and increased the money I get from Father each month. And, well, I own that he made me feel important. All know that, in practice, he is the elder brother and I the wastrel. He played upon my pride to get me to agree. In reality, I fear it was only to bully you by a show of force.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “It is well and good, Thomas. You are not a wastrel. You are a gifted poet, a writer, a gentleman, a tender heart, a loving father. ’Tis how God made you. And Edmund cannot take Allington from you.”

“No, but Father has given him leave of the finances to run it and all other properties and interests,” Thomas admitted. I confess, my heart sank at the news.

“I cannot take back my actions,” he said. “But I wanted you to know I repent of them. And anyway, Edmund has been paid back in full, for certes.”

I lifted my head and looked in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t heard? The Earl of Blenheim’s ward, Mistress Charlotte, the one that Edmund was keen to marry, is now betrothed to Simon instead. His title, and fortune, are both greater than Edmund’s. Marriage negotiations are already under way.”

“Which is why Rose was so interested in ensuring I did not marry the baron,” I said.

“I’d wager,” Thomas said. “Edmund was in a murderous rage for weeks. He avoided court so as not to see them together. I hear from Master Cromwell, though, that he may have found another bride.”

“I pity her,” I said. “And Charlotte. Rose was no friend to her to hand her over to Simon.”

Thomas nodded and then replied, “I leave for Essex tomorrow but will be back, along with my wife and son, for Anne’s coronation in May. I am to serve as her ewer, in Father’s place, as he is too unwell to attend. The king has not forgotten Father’s friendship with his own father.” He looked at the mated swans, now slipping past us. “Will Ogilvy will be here too. I hear from our nephew John Rogers that Ogilvy does not do well.”

On the twenty-ninth of May, Anne was sumptuously conveyed from Greenwich Palace to her quarters at the Tower of London, which Master Cromwell had refurbished in advance. I and many of her other ladies would be quartered nearby, of course, to provide comfort and amusement and assistance. It was the zenith of her life and she shimmered like a mirage on a hot summer day. There was much merriment in the ladies’ chamber for two days, with minstrels and mimes and jugglers, and then, on Saturday, the procession to Westminster, climaxing on Whitsunday, when Anne was to be crowned.

I found it poignant that her coronation would be held on Whitsunday, celebrating the Day of Pentecost, when our Lord sent the Holy Ghost to give us wisdom to learn how to live in this world afore we joined Him, to lend comfort in the distress we oft found in the walls in which we lived. I stood next to the archbishop of Canterbury as Anne alighted into her litter. She had on a brilliant gown made of white cloth of gold, which were, for the moment, hidden by her thick royal coronation robes of purple velvet furred with ermine. The gold coronet on her head signaled her royalty while her bare feet signaled her humility to serve—Christ first, and then husband, and then subjects. As mistress of her robes I had acquired that material specially for this day, bartering like a furious fishwife with the royal cloth merchants to make it affordable within her Pembroke moneys and promising harsh retaliations should they foresell the same fabric to anyone else.

It was worth it, to see her on that day. Twelve ladies dressed in crimson cloth of gold would ride beside her, followed by carriage after carriage of serving nobility and visiting dignitaries.

“She is magnificent,” Cranmer said, staring at her admiringly, as did all along the way who serenaded her and read aloud poems and scriptures lauding her.

Not all brought praise. On the way to Westminster Abbey, there had lined some women who stood back far enough not to be seen but certainly within range to be heard, and to throw evil-smelling things.

“Bawd!” one shouted, and threw a ball of muck at her carriage.

“Schemer!” another cried. Several more orbs of refuse were lobbed at the carriage afore the king’s men put a stop to it. I, in a carriage several behind the queen, saw the hate in their faces. And, mayhap, fear. They had not the time, nor the ability, nor the inclination to reason with the legal omniscience that was Cromwell’s Collectanea, nor consider the future of the realm. They did not know, as I did, that Anne had saved herself for her marriage, a marriage the king had assured her was moral and just as his first one was not. These lowly women simply saw that if ’twas legal for the king to set aside his aging wife and marry again, what would stop their husbands from doing the same?

I took my seat at the abbey along with my niece, Alice’s daughter Margaret, nicknamed Margery, who had recently married Sir Anthony Lee. “Dowager Baroness,” the knight who showed us to our seats said, calling me by my proper title.

There, next to my young, newlywed niece, waiting for my beautiful, fertile friend to be crowned, I felt the weight of the age that the word “dowager” implied, though I was but a few clock dials past thirty. Margery must have caught my cheerless look.

“Do you ever wish ’twas you?” she whispered to me, feeling safe, I suspect, because of the cover of the music.

“As queen?” I answered. “No, never.”

“And yet,” she pressed on in curiosity, “you who were her friend and equal now must serve her instead and have no family nor husband of your own. ’Tis not so beguiling.”

I did not chide her. I rather recognized myself in her, as a younger woman, asking impertinent questions of my sister, her mother, the lady Alice.

“A lady-in-waiting is a noble post,” I said. “A lady’s value is not vested in the work that she is called to do, but rather in the rank and position of the one she is called to serve.”

Margery nodded and returned to ogling the fine gowns and crowns around her.

I, though, was drawn to look at the crucifix with our Lord upon it, vaunted near the flying buttresses that quietly held up the abbey. As the trumpeters and minstrels came forth I knew I had an answer to the question I’d pressed upon our Lord again and again since coming to the passage in Master Tyndale’s translation of the Epistle of Saint Paul to the Romans, chapter 8. Had I been called of purpose?

In a moment as quick as lightning striking a stump I understood that my call was to serve them both. Margery was right. It was not so beguiling. For that flashing moment, I abided the pain of ever going unheralded. Always the setting, I’d said of myself as a child. Never the stone. And yet a stone wanted for a setting to vaunt its purpose and beauty, did it not? ’Twas the call of the setting not to draw attention to itself but to the stone. My eyes drew back to that stone.

Anne walked forward, majestically, regally, along the railed route of seven hundred yards between the dais of the hall and the high altar of the abbey. Over her head was carried a gold canopy and she was preceded by a scepter of gold and rod of ivory topped with the dove. After High Mass was sung Cranmer prayed over her and Anne prostrated herself before the altar, where he anointed her and then led her to St. Edward’s chair, where she was crowned.

I looked up as my dearest friend was crowned queen of England by the archbishop of Canterbury. Her years of patience, of obedience, of political savvy and personal achievement, her enduring affection, yea, even true love for the king had all been invested for this moment. And the fruit of it was the prince who grew within her.

Henry had planned days of celebration. I admit to it: I hadn’t bargained with the cloth merchant only on Anne’s behalf. I had purchased some fine materials for myself, my favorite a vibrant green taffeta to put all in mind of spring and new life with tiny pears embroidered with gold thread around the slightly daring neckline. I’d have gowns sewn which I hoped would entirely dismiss the “dowager” in my title from all who set eyes upon me.